


A Feeling in the Air

by feelsnotfeelings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Inspired by Music, M/M, Singer!Cas, shipper!charlie, the shakey graves au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelsnotfeelings/pseuds/feelsnotfeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wasn't even really a fan of Castiel Novak. How the hell did he end up onstage singing a duet with him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Feeling in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this video.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOytkZzXJ6k)

It was rare that Castiel Novak played such an intimate show, and it seemed that no one in Lawrence wanted to miss out. People kept packing into the shoebox of a cafe, and Dean and Charlie found themselves being nudged closer and closer to the stage. By the time the lights went down, their table was four feet behind them. They spread their feast of muffins and pie across their laps, and Charlie clutched her mug so tightly Dean thought it might crack.

This was her thing, really. She was the one who had all his albums, who set up a Google alert for his shows, which was how they’d found out about this one. And Dean, well, he just liked Novak’s voice. He found it soothing. A little rough, but honest. Inviting.

***

Cas hid in the little alcove tucked away behind the stage, listening to clinking silverware and audience chatter while he waited for the lights to dim, his signal to go on. He loved playing small venues like this, just his guitar, an amp, and a mic, where he could see all the way to the back even with the lights dimmed. He liked to see his audience, to not feel like he was singing to himself. That connection was the whole reason he first picked up a guitar. He rarely got the chance anymore, now that the mainstream stations were playing his songs. This tiny cafe smelled of espresso and cinnamon, and it felt like coming home.

The lights went down, and Cas stepped up onto the raised platform, guitar slung across his back.The applause that welcomed him onto the stage never ceased to humble him, and he ducked his head against the blush that he couldn’t fight. He leaned over to adjust the mic he’d set up earlier, using the movement to say “Hi, I’m Cas,” and shoot the audience a sideways smile. It sent them into another round of applause. He settled onto the stool, held his guitar to his chest, and with no further preamble struck the first chord.

***

Dean had never bothered to look this guy up before and didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe shirtsleeves, rolled up. A tie. Definitely not the scruff framing full lips, eyes that crinkled when he smiled, nor the simple red hoodie over worn jeans. Charlie laughed at his sharp intake of breath, and laughed harder when he flipped her the bird around his cappuccino.

Then Castiel, or _Cas_ , as he’d introduced himself, seeming almost embarrassed at the attention, started to play. Now this was familiar, the sparse arrangement of guitar and voice. If he closed his eyes he might as well be back in the apartment hearing the music filtered through the wall between his and Charlie’s rooms. Cas’s face, though, kept his eyes riveted. He felt everything he was saying, and he wore it on his face. Dean wondered what it was like to relive such intense emotion in front of an audience, how vulnerable he must feel up there.

He sank back into his chair, and into the music, resolving to be present, to feel it just as much as Cas did.

***

Cas’s audiences always enthralled him. Even when he could only make out the first few rows, he could hear their voices echoing his, see their bodies swaying. Here, he could pick out a couple with matching braids slow dancing way in the back and the barista singing along behind the counter. A redhead near the front tapped her ring against her mug in time with the beat. He could hear the steady _clink clink_ in the rests. The guy next to her slumped low in his chair, a finger lazily looped through the handle of his mug the only thing keeping it from tipping off his leg. He met Cas’s gaze with softly smiling eyes, like he already knew him. Cas supposed that he did, in a way, since he knew his music.

“Now this next one is a song I usually play with my dear friend, Anna Milton. She’s got the voice of an angel, and she’s an amazingly talented fiddler... Really it’s her song, I just tag along.” He strummed a few idle chords as he spoke. “Anyway, my point is that I need a duet partner.”

Immediately about twenty hands raised, including the redhead’s. It was holding fast to the wrist of the guy next to her.

***

Charlie cranked Dean’s arm high into the air and wouldn’t let go, no matter how hard he fought. “Dean. You _have_ to. I hear you whistling this in the shower all the time.”

“Exactly. I whistle. I don’t sing. I don’t even know the words.”

“Who cares? You have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get up close and personal with Castiel freaking Novak. I saw you oogling him. I know you want to.”

Dean sighed and turned back to the stage, only to find Castiel fucking Novak not two feet away. Up close and personal indeed.

“Who’s volunteering who here?” he asked, looking between them.

“He’s volunteering himself,” Charlie said. “I’m just moral support. He’s shy.”

Cas turned to look only at Dean, speaking softly. “Are you sure? I won’t make you sing if you don't really want to.”

Dean groaned internally. That _voice_.

“I want to. I don’t know all the words, though,” he admitted. Damn Charlie for being right.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Cas said and held out his hand.

Dean took it while Charlie pressed her phone into his other hand. A quick peek showed that she’d pulled up the lyrics for him. Bless her.

***

The shy guy’s hand was clammy in his as Cas led him up to the stage. He gave him what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“What’s your name?”

“Dean.”

Dean had an interesting voice. It rumbled from his chest even when he was nearly whispering, like it was too big for his body. This was going to be _some_ duet.

“Everybody, this is Dean,” Cas said into the mic. “He’s a little shy, so please be gentle with him.”

The audience applauded politely, with a few whoops and whistles scattered throughout as Cas adjusted the mic between them.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing.”

“He doesn’t,” called the redhead who’d _helped him_ volunteer.

Dean looked ready to pass out from embarrassment, so Cas put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”

Muscles shifted under Cas’s hand as Dean shrugged. “I’ll survive.”

“Good man.” Cas started in on the first few instrumental measures. “I’ll count us in, okay?”

Dean nodded.

His voice was the exact opposite of Anna’s, more in line with Cas’s own, and it fit the song perfectly even though he stumbled in places. He was reading from a phone, after all.

Anyway, Cas kind of liked it.

***

Dean expected Cas's smile to turn polite when he started singing, but it held friendly. If anything, it softened. That was enough encouragement to make him relax, and he found himself swaying with the music. The crinkles around Cas’s eyes deepened, and he nodded his approval.

Anna’s fiddle solo was coming up in a few bars, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was stand up here idly for sixteen more. He looked to Charlie for the first time since coming onstage, hoping for some guidance. She shot him a thumbs up, then made a gesture that he assumed meant ‘roll with it’.

“So, Dean,” Cas said.

He rolled with it. “Yeah, Cas?”

***

“Who'd you come to the show with today?” Cas continued in the same talk-singing cadence as before, his fingers working automatically on the strings.

“My roommate, Charlie. She's a big fan.”

The redhead half-stood and waved to the rest of the audience.

“You're not? Should I throw you back and bring her up instead? She even looks like Anna if you squint. You, on the other hand...” Cas trailed off and shook his head, looking Dean up and down. He even had freckles on his eyelids.

Dean blushed and looked away. “I'd rather you didn't. This is one of my favorites.”

Cas smiled, relishing the way Dean’s skin pinkened all the way out to his ears. He got so carried away enjoying the blush that he lost track of how much time had passed. Definitely more than Charlie's solo would've taken.

“In that case, why don't you finish it off?” Cas said, and counted them back in.

***

“Oh my God that was amazing,” Charlie said when Dean stumbled back to his seat, breathless and flushed. “He is totally into you.”

“Come on, Charlie. He was just putting on a good show,” he cautioned them both despite the way his heart leapt at her words.

“Uh-uh. I've seen plenty of videos of him with fans, and none of them looked like that. He checked you out onstage.”

“He was making a joke.” The way Cas had looked him over hadn't escaped his attention, but things like that just didn't happen in real life.

“To have an excuse to check you out. Will you just believe me on this?”

He wanted to believe her. He just didn't want to turn into a delusional fan.

"You’re going to the signing after, and you're going to talk to him.”

Dean buried his face in his hands.

***

When he’d first started performing, Cas had struggled to keep his eyes up and engage with the audience. He was having the same problem right now.

He couldn't stop glancing at Dean. He hunched low in his chair, hands over his face, and he was shaking his head at something Charlie was saying. Cas hoped he wasn’t feeling any residual embarrassment from being onstage. He'd been great up there despite his reluctance.

Cas almost wished he had an excuse to bring him back, maybe for an encore, but he doubted anyone but Charlie and himself would enjoy that. He could only hope that Dean would hang around afterward for his signing.

***

“I can't believe I let you talk me into this,” Dean moaned as the line inched forward. He'd stalled as long as possible, leisurely nibbling a third slice of pie until Charlie dragged him bodily from his chair. Of course, being so far back in line only extended his misery.

“If it goes bad I owe you a beer,” Charlie promised.

“A case,” Dean growled.

“A six pack.”

Dean huffed. “Deal.”

They were a few people back in line when Cas caught his eye. He smiled, and crow’s feet cracked across his temples.

Charlie let out a sound like air escaping a balloon, then cowered under Dean’s glare.

“Hello Dean, Charlie,” Cas said when they reached the front of the line. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” Dean said while Charlie bounced next to him.

“I'm glad you came out for it.” Cas smiled up at him from under his lashes, then turned back to the CD he was taking an unusual amount of time to sign. He slid it almost timidly across the table.

Dean glanced down, saw the row of numbers, and looked sharply back up at Cas.

***

Cas took in the alarm that flashed in Dean’s eyes and rushed to snatch back his number. “Or not. Sorry, I...” _read this completely wrong_ , he was going to say, but Dean held fast to the case, his fingertips less than an inch from his own.

“It's… fine,” Dean said, looking surprised at himself.

Then he surprised Cas, grabbing the marker out of his hand, and then the hand itself.

He scribbled a line of digits across the back of it and said, “Call me if I don't call you. I want to, I'm just— “

“Shy. I heard,” Cas finished for him.

Dean nodded, his eyes faintly smiling, and Cas felt like he knew him.


End file.
